Fathomless
by Unanon
Summary: Jack's thoughts in the skiff and beyond. Chapter 5 is new!
1. Escape

Jack

Disclaimer: I own nothing… dammit… but I wouldn't mind a bit of Vin! All characters belong to someone other than me, except for those I use as filler.

Just a little Jack POV following their escape from the planet. I don't know yet whether or not I'll post the subsequent chapters… depends on the response I guess! Oh… this is like… my cherry popper fic, if you know what I mean…

Chapter 1 - Escape

Paris had no idea how wrong he was when he said those words to me about my parents, or how much he hurt me. True, I did seem to be travelling alone and in the guise of a boy (although Paris was already fodder for the darkness beasts before that little secret was revealed…. I wonder what he would have thought of me then?). But everyone has secrets. Y'see, I was not travelling alone when I boarded the Hunter-Gratzna. Yes, I was masquerading as a male, and yes, my cryo-chamber was not located anywhere near that of my companion. We had planned it that way. People are always quick to make malicious judgments about grown men travelling with little girls who call them "Daddy"…. even when it's legitimate. It was just simpler this way, and it certainly wasn't the first time we'd pulled off this minor hoax. 

Papa and I had been regularly travelling as Father and Son since he rescued me at the age of four from my Mother, his wife, whom he married about a year after I was born. Despite our early separation, I remember my Mother very clearly. Pain tends to imprint itself sharply on the memory of the very young. Papa really had no clue how to care for a child, much less a girl-child. His first attempts at combing my hair were laughable. I can remember walking beside him along the beach on Riviera IV wearing nothing but a skirt pulled up to my armpits. I was seven or eight at the time. It was a couple years later, when his job as a colony geologist started to require intense travel that we decided I become "Jack" on a fulltime basis. It got us through checkpoints faster, despite our dissimilar last names. It had always been fun for me to be Jack, and it was what allowed me to remain with Papa, no matter what. When I hit puberty and things became a little more difficult to conceal, we thought we would give Jack a decent burial and let me be a girl. Our first attempt was a complete disaster resulting in a missed flight and about 6 hours for Papa in an interrogation room thanks to some nosy ship hand with a dirty mind. That night, Papa came back to our room with an athletic bandage and tossed it at me with a "sorry kid." The next morning I breezed onboard another ship with bound breasts and with nary a second glance in my direction. 

From then on, I was always Jack in public. We traveled all the time. New colonies were popping up like pimples on a prom date and all of them needed the services of an expert geologist. We changed homes faster then Imam changes underpants. No joke. Most of my life was spent in cryo-sleep. At the time of the Hunter-Gratzna crash I was a full nineteen standard Earth years, having truly lived and experienced maybe fourteen of them, leaving me somewhat immature for my 'age.' Yeah. Cryo-sleep can be a bitch sometimes.

Papa and I always had a backup plan in case of our being separated from each other. He made me memorize trade routes, account numbers, names and addresses of a few trusted folks just in case. Accidents are pretty commonplace on space runs. The fate of the HG was certainly no extraordinary thing (planet of eclipse loving beasties aside). Crashes happened all the time. Shit, the HG wasn't even my first crash! It was, however, the first one I walked away from without Papa.

Papa. Even thinking his name now hurts more than anything. The entire time on that fuckin' planet I had to hold myself in. When Zeke was digging the death pits, before he became lunchmeat, he and Paris spent an awful lot of time talking about Johns and Riddick. They clearly admired Johns for his strength and his 'discipline.' Must be pretty nice to be able to get yourself centered with the help of a hypo, doncha think? Riddick's self-control, to them, was that of an animal. Patience and restraint as a direct result of an enhanced survival instinct, breaking out into bursts of crazed energy as needed. Whatever. All I know is the way it happened for me, waking up moments after the crash to discover I was trapped inside a jammed cryo-chamber, 100 thoughts running through my mind all at once, the most persistent one being "get through this!"

So I did. Not perfectly, not gracefully, not even with strength. But I wasn't dead. 

Part of me wanted to believe that Papa would be proud. I had followed his advice to the letter. "Jack, my girl," he would say, "when you're caught in a situation you can't control, always try to get as close as you can to the strongest person there. You just might come out on top." He was always telling me shit like that… little lessons in life designed to make me stronger, smarter, more capable of survival then a puny little runt like me ever really had the honest chance of being. So I played it safe. I remained Jack, I remained young, and I played weak. That got me under Shazza's wing in the beginning, which was just fine with me. Being in the background always gave me a clearer view of the territory. When Zeke killed that man, I had the most horrifying fleeting perception that he was Papa…. he wasn't, but it still helped the realism of my reaction. Frightened, brave child, lost and with no one. Not entirely too far from the truth.

It certainly didn't take me long to pin Riddick as my only way off that friggin rock. A little teasing banter moderated by a clueless Fry, the subsequent 'hero worship' emulation… just to show I cared. These were simply small ways of getting him to notice me… of getting him to perceive my implied worth. I don't know if any of this would have worked if it hadn't have been for Fry in the end, but it certainly got me out from under that monster in the boneyard. A Father's lessons well learned. Shit, if I've interpreted things correctly, it may even have saved me from that hyped-up slag of a Johns. 

I still don't know how Riddick figured out I wasn't a boy. Well.. I do know, but the thought of him being able to smell my blood is disturbing on too many levels. Now he's the one bleeding, piloting the skiff beside me with an intensity that frightens Imam a little and, frankly, excites me. I know he's dangerous. I know most people would call me a fool, but I'm planning to stick by his side as long as he'll allow. Stick with the shark like a lamprey, Jack… and so on. Dear Papa.

Imam's prayers, an incessant background hum for hours now, have stopped. Turning around, I see that he has fallen asleep, curled up in a ball. I have to smile… he twitches a little in his sleep like a puppy lost in a dream, and I wonder if he too is still somewhere on that planet. The quirky, contrary part of my brain perks up with… "damn, girl! If Imam and Riddick both left part of themselves back on that planet, maybe you're the only real survivor!" But even as I think it, I know it isn't true. No one left that place whole.

A spasm of sharp pain grips my gut. My chest constricts and my throat tightens involuntarily. Intense concentration is the only thing that allows me to maintain a modicum of control over my features. If Riddick is as perceptive as I'm guessing he is, though, my short breaths and altered pulse rate won't escape his notice. I'll just have to hope that he's distracted enough by the effort of piloting and controlling his own pain. Is he mourning Fry, I wonder? Johns perhaps? I couldn't help but let out a little snort of amusement at that thought.

Riddick glances my direction. "Y'ok kid?" He looked pale. I wondered vaguely just how much blood he'd lost.

"Yeah. I'm fine. You aren't looking that hot."

"Izzat so…" He wasn't being sarcastic though… thoughtful actually. Just how long had it been since someone had cared enough to notice whether he was doing ok?

"Why don't you set this junkheap to auto and let me clean your wounds a bit. We wouldn't want them to get infected, and god only knows what kind of shit those bastards had on their claws." Please say yes, please say yes… give me something to do with my hands to make my mind stop working in overdrive, at least for a moment.

Riddick sighed and shifted uneasily in his seat. "I'll be fine."

"Dammit, Riddick! Accept someone else's help for a single fuckin' time in your life!

He jumped a little at that. Damn. He must have been tired. I got out of my seat and went to the rear of the skiff where Riddick had stashed some water when he had prepped the ship the first time, the time he might have left us behind. Grabbing the water and quietly stealing one of Imam's many shawls to tear into bandages, I made my way back to Riddick. "Turn around."

Surprisingly, he obeyed, looking down at me with those wonderfully fathomless eyes as I knelt at his feet and started to gently peel blood soaked fabric from his legs. "Do you know what you're doing, Jack?" Somehow, his question seemed to imply more then it probably meant. Hidden in the words and the tone were both fear and longing. I recognized this, because those concealed desires were familiar to me, when I dared admit them to myself. I looked at him solemnly. I looked into his eyes, searching for the piece of myself I suspected I might find within them…

"Yes." 

As he leaned back into his seat, finally relaxing and submitting himself to my touch and my care, I knew that, at least for a while, I would have to save my grief for Papa. It didn't matter. I knew he'd keep.

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	2. Interlude

Jack 2 Chapter 2 – Interlude 

Things weren't going well at all… Breathing hard, we had just ran inside the questionable protection of the small cave, slamming our backs into the far wall as we waited for one of those things to find us, follow us in, anything. I glanced briefly at Imam in what remained of our flickering light. His eyes were red and swollen from weeping. All his 'children' were gone now, but I couldn't bring myself to feel anything but thankful that I was still alive, at least for the moment. Sounds of scratching and light mournful echoes drew my attention once more to the cave entrance. In a sickening rush of wind and leathery wings I felt one of the creatures graze past me as it leapt on Imam. His scream of terror became a strangled gurgle as his lungs filled with warm, salty blood. I can't move! Why couldn't I move? Why isn't the wretched beast afraid of our single pathetic remaining light? Feet frozen, I could only gaze in horror on the scene of the beast feasting on the body of Imam. My stomach dropped into hell as, slowly, the animal stopped its feeding and turned its massive head my direction, revealing not grisly teeth and powerful jaws, but the beloved face of my Papa, Imam's blood dripping from his lips… 

Riddick is shaking me by the shoulders, hard, and it feels like he's probably been doing it for some time now. There's a residual sound in my ears which I abruptly realize, with shame, is probably the echo of my screams. "I'm awake," I gasp hoarsely. "It's o.k., I'm awake now." His hands don't leave my shoulders. They're still shaking me slightly. He only releases me when I move, struggling into a sitting position against the bulkhead. Even then he assumes a protective position, on one knee in front of me, his hand on my thigh. 

"Sorry… Thanks for waking me… sorry…" Imam comes and hovers over us worriedly. 

"Are you certain you are all right, child?" 

I again feel a wash of shame at the thought that my stupid dreams and my stupid screams might have made Imam relive… something. Our current situation was bad enough, I didn't have to go and make things worse by being a baby. 

"Yes, really, Imam. I'm fine now. Thanks…" He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he retreats into his corner with his beads, picking up his never ending cycle of prayer once more. 

Turning my attention to Riddick, I'm only a little surprised to see how close his face is to mine. He's the type of person who tends to disregard personal space; it really takes some getting used to. "You want a drink of water, kid?" 

"No, no. We have to save that. I'm not that thirsty anyway." Cottonmouth city here, people! 

He grinned toothily. "Liar." 

Getting up with one silent, smooth motion, Riddick went to get some water for me. Precious water. Almost none left water. Everyone's thirsty as hell water. Guilt, guilt, guilt water. Damn. 

Returning, he put a small half-filled cup into my hands, gently forcing my fingers to curl around it. If it wouldn't have only increased my feelings of guilt, I would have thrown it in his face. "Drink," he commanded. 

"I said I wasn't thirsty." I mumbled. He just stood above me, arms folded, looming and immobile like some dark Norse god. I took a sip. Then I noticed the blood. 

"You stupid bastard." I said in half shock. "Didn't I tell you not to be moving around much until the wound had a chance to knit a little?! Sit the hell down! NOW!" 

With an amused look, he complied, sitting beside me against the bulkhead and stretching his bandaged leg out in front of him. He leaned back, shoulder brushing mine, and closed his eyes, giving me a chance for a moment to observe him closely; still pale, tightness around the mouth and eyes the only outward sign of his weariness and pain. I sighed and took another sip of water. We were going to fuckin' die out here. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It had been four days since we escaped what we on the skiff now termed "that fuckin' planet." Riddick had settled us into orbit around another planet in the system so we could try and figure out where the hell we were. Took him a full days worth of thinking and calculating and cussing, but he eventually came up with coordinates placing us smack dab in the center of the Epsilon Quadrant. In generic terms that means smack dab in the middle of fuckin' nowheresville. Seriously. There were no fully inhabited planets anywhere near us. Maybe a couple small colonies chock full of religious cult members (the kind that even scare Imam), but that was about it. Zip, nada, not even a regular shipping lane coming through. In short, we were screwed. We were broadcasting an emergency beacon, but the possibility of anyone actually tripping across it in space was slim to say the least. 

To make matters worse, the skiff's life support systems were on the fritz. The skiff's hydro processor absolutely refused to produce water, and the air filters were operating at only 45% capacity. Let's not forget to mention that the skiff was designed to comfortably sustain only two people, period, for perhaps a week, and that was stretching it. We were living with half a lung or less. The food reserves were old, tasteless, and barely nutritious, but we were extremely grateful to have them and the small moisture they provided. Imam and I were also pathetically thankful that Riddick had the paranoid foresight to bring a small supply of water aboard. We would already have been dead without it. 

Conditions on the skiff were.... unique. Complete and total lack of privacy for even the most intimate and personal of acts was unnerving to say the least. Embarrassment was something everyone had to take and stuff deep down within themselves. We couldn't afford social niceties like modesty by this point; after the shit that went down on the planet, it wasn't entirely too difficult an adjustment. A gentle aversion of eyes could do a lot to make someone else feel more comfortable. By someone, I mean Imam and myself. Riddick didn't seem to have a modest cell in his body, bless him. 

After pulling a typical stoneface and breaking the bad news about our location, we had what I jokingly refer to our 'family meeting.' We basically came up with 3 options, none of them great. 

"We can stay here and hope for a rescue." Imam clearly had faith in God. I envy that man. 

"It will take two weeks or more for our beacon signal to even reach populated space. We all won't be able to make it that long." I knew what Riddick was thinking, at least I thought I did... _he_ could survive that long, but the rest of us wouldn't. 

"Why don't we try to reach a colony, a planet, somewhere where we can restock and at least **breathe**?" Sure, I had no clue how long it would take to get anywhere fitting that description, but I sure as hell didn't want to wait around for an unlikely rescue party. 

"We could go back to the planet." He didn't look at us after he said it, he looked at his hands resting in his lap. He had said it with such finality, as if it was our only option. Was he telling us that it was our only way out, to live, to survive? Oh god.... 

"No." Imam was quietly firm. "I shall never return to that place." 

"We might not have a choice, holy man! I'm not about to fuckin' die here just because you and the kid don't wanna take a chance on that place. Listen, according to my calculations, the eclipse ends in 2 days. We could skim down there, load up on water, maybe find some food supplies left behind by those geologists...." 

"That is not an option, Riddick! Even if it means certain death, I refuse to return to that planet!" 

Riddick and I both stared at Imam. Bleary eyed and feverish with thirst and strain, emotion radiated from his body, from every pore. He meant it, and we weren't about to push the issue. I took a deep breath. 

"Well I don't think we stand a chance in hell if we stay here." I looked at Riddick questioningly. "So, _can_ we reach another planet in time or should I just start carving what I want on my tombstone on the inside hull?" 

Riddick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and taking off his goggles as he rubbed a hand tiredly along the back of his head and neck. "Maybe. If we left 2 hours ago." 

"So what are we waiting for, let's leave! I'd rather die trying to get somewhere the sitting here waiting for the reaper to come! Let's go!" 

Riddick plotted a course and then joined Imam and me at the rear of the cabin. We had come to the silent agreement that the only real way to conserve both air and water was to remain as inactive as possible. Considering the size of the skiff, that wasn't very hard. Shit, I couldn't turn over without bumping into someone. It was just as well though. With power being diverted to both the drive and essential life support, our small compartment started getting colder. Not cold, but not comfortable either. I figure I was the lucky one, loosely sandwiched between Imam and Riddick We slept, Imam prayed, Riddick and I talked the nonsensical talk of two people who don't really want to talk about anything important, but had nothing better to do. During those long, long days I discovered that Riddick's favorite color when he could see normally was red (big surprise, eh?), he's fond of Thai food, hates team sports but likes to watch Earth hockey, has killed 23 people in 7 different ways, prefers no underwear to either boxers or briefs, and is wide awake during cryosleep. Spooky. I've told him why I hate blondes with pouty lips, the name of my first pet (a snail named Mo I kept for 2 whole weeks in a box before he died), where I was born, and that I spit in Paris' water during our little group meeting/celebration back on the planet. I even told him about the first time I french-kissed someone; some dark, smoothly lanky young kid who played his guitar on streetcorners in New Greece for pleasure, not money. We had walked along a river together one of those quiet, lazy afternoons when even the air seems languid, holding hands sticky from stolen candy and summer heat. When he kissed me, he tasted of watercress and peppermint; to this day the smell of mint makes me sick. We whispered these minor confessions to each other for hours beneath the drone of Imam's worship. Even Riddick's unique voice becomes annoying when you can't escape it. I started fantasizing about a nice, cozy cryochamber. Eventually, the pauses in conversation stretched out and we slept. Trouble is, I dream. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

So here I sit, holding my precious bit of water and listening to Riddick's even breathing beside me. A glance at the console tells me that there are still 26.8 hours remaining before we arrive... where was it Riddick had said? Some small colony of cultists who worshiped an ancient Terran god of some sort... Shit, I don't care if they bow down to a radish on a pedestal as long as they're of the friendly sort. Papa always said that religion was personal thing, and not to be mocked no matter what we think about it; I tend to agree with him. 

Riddick shifted in his sleep, sliding slowly down the side of the hull and rolling forward and down until he came to a stop with his head firmly in my lap. I swear he does this shit on purpose, asleep or no. With a sigh, I set the cup on the floor beside me and let my hands gently rest on the back of Riddick's neck, starting a slow massage that traveled a bit down his spine and shoulder. After a bit, he rolled over, and looked at me from my lap, eyes expressionless and virtually unreadable, but not harsh. 

"So," he lifted his far arm and stretched it casually over his head, "who's this Papa?"   
  



	3. Impasse

Jack 3

Sorry for the short chapter. Work in the real world is an evil thing. I DID start a crossover fic with Riddick and Logan (Wolverine), if you want to check it out.

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Chapter 3 - _Impasse_

Riddick's head made a nice loud clang on the metal floor when I jerked my legs out from under it and scooted rapidly towards the front of the skiff. Any breath I had left was catching in my throat painfully; I could feel myself getting dizzy. It didn't matter. I had to get as far away from Riddick as I could at that moment; I had to escape the questions I didn't want to answer. I was just starting to crawl into the navigator's seat when a rough, angry hand gripped my ankle and jerked me back twisting me around. Hard.

It isn't a simple thing to maintain your composure flat on your back with a pissed off criminal straddling you and pinning your hands over your head. It tends to be even more difficult when one happens to be physically weakened and in the throes of an emotional earthquake. All I could manage at this point with head averted and eyes tightly shut was a weak "let me go!" 

"Fuck that!" His voice was calm, jaw tight, face impassive. "I just asked you a question, Jack. A simple 'fuck you, Riddick' would have been enough to let me know you didn't wanna talk about it." I could feel him lean in closer until his breath whispered against my sensitive exposed ear and throat. "Now, were _gonna_ talk about it."

A choked sob escaped my throat, ending in a whimper. I felt so weak and my mind was racing, thoughts arriving so quickly they all blurred together screaming what had become my mantra… 'get thorough this' followed by the equally important 'play the game, Jack.' Licking my cracked lips I squeaked, "I don't want to."

"Leave the child alone, Riddick. Hasn't she been through enough?" 

Riddick ignored Imam's half-hearted plea, using one hand to pin my arms while the other came down to grasp my chin, slowly forcing my head to turn towards him. His fingers were rough against my face awakening reactions within me I wasn't ready to admit having. Part of me hated him for that; the same part of me loved him for that.

"Look at me, Jack."

I snapped my eyes open angrily, ready to give this arrogant, heartless bastard the sharp edge of my tongue, killer-with-a-shiv or no. I was fully unprepared.

Do you know how life has those moments… the ones that are somehow more real, more complete then others? I used to call them porticos. It was easy to imagine these glimpses of clarity as small doorways into a world where everything was painfully beautiful and time had no meaning. Looking into Riddick's face I had the same sensation I'd felt upon waking up in the middle of a field on Killroy 9 (who the hell names a planet Killroy anyway?) and seeing the planet's unique atmospheric combination turn the night sky into a tapestry of riotous color. According to Papa, it was an Aurora Borealis, a phenomenon that existed on Terra as well, just not with the same intensity or scale. Being a scientist, Papa was prone to squelching beauty with logic and theory, but that night he just let me use his stomach as a pillow, saying nothing more as we stared into the dancing celestial lights. Papa understood about porticos, even if he rarely ever saw one.

I don't know how long I was looking into Riddick's face, into the strange reflective surface of his eyes before he let me go. He must have seen something in my expression, or noticed a change in my breathing; whatever it was, it startled him enough to release me. He leaned back against the bulkhead, looking at me with an indecipherable expression.

"Jack."

That's all he said, just 'Jack,' very quietly and strangely. It was as if he were trying my name on his tongue for the first time, rolling it around in his mouth as if to savor its flavor. He sounded as if my name tasted funny, like tasting sour while expecting sweet.

"I'm not going to talk about it," I said tiredly as I sat up and crawled in his direction and settled down beside him. "I'm just not ready yet." I couldn't believe the words coming out of my own mouth. I was unused to such honesty with people I'd been playing 'Jack' with. Maybe it was time to end the game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Expose

Jack 4

Because some of you asked, the name of my other fic, a movie crossover with Riddick and Logan (Jack is making an appearance too, it seems) is called Shiv and SNIKT. It's in the Movie Crossovers section. You can't miss it.

Oh.. These guys aren't mine. I'm poor, don't sue me.

Advertisements and disclaimers aside, here's chapter 4!!!

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Chapter 4 - _Expose_

Riddick and I sat side by side in complete silence for what seemed like hours, shoulders brushing, listening to each other's breating. Imam had long since stopped praying, but he also remained mute. None of us slept; we were too afraid that if we slept we wouldn't wake up again. I was the one who spoke first.

"Thirteen hours to go. We just might make it." 

Even though my words were hopeful, my voice resonated with the despair and anxiety we were all feeling. Imam didn't even bother to acknowledge that I'd spoken; all I got from Riddick was a small sound in his throat, more like a grunt then anything else. A small level of annoyance rose within me and I was compelled to make this men sit up and act alive, no matter what.

So I started to take off my shirt.

Imam's curiosity was piqued. "What do you think you are doing, child?"

"I'm unbinding myself, it'll help me breathe." I was already breathing as well as I could, considering the state of the filters, but hell! They didn't know that! 

Imam just rolled over, I presume to afford me more privacy, but Riddick opened his eyes. "You're what?"

"Unbinding…." I was struggling to get my multiple shirts off; it was taking more of an effort then I had anticipated. 

"Oh…" He sounded weakly amused. "Here kid, lemmie give you a hand." He reached out and helped lift my shirts over my head until all that remained was my torso, naked aside from the tightly wrapped sports bandage which I'd worn since first boarding the Hunter-Gratzner. It had become molded to my flesh in parts with sweat and rain and blood and assorted alien goo I didn't want to think about. All I knew is that I wanted it off. Immediately.

Riddick hissed a sharp intake of breath. "Jack. That's gonna hurt like hell to take off."

I shrugged. "I know. It's always bad after a long cryosleep, but Papa always used to…" I trailed off, silently cursing myself. My physical weakness was loosening my tongue too much.

"I'll help you."

"That's o.k. I can do it."

"I want to."

"Don't worry about it!"

"Dammit Jack!" He paused, then grinned. "Accept someone else's help for a single fuckin' time in your life!"

I had to smile as he threw my own little speech back into my face. Without another word, I lifted my arms and Riddick began to unwrap me. It was a slow process. Part of the outside layers had adhered to small folds of skin in my armpits and had to be removed very carefully; quick removal would take some of my skin along with it, as Papa and I had painfully learned. 

"Fuck, Jack!" Riddick's voice sounded strained and I knew he'd found some small scars. "How many times have you done this?!"

"Lots." There wasn't much else I could manage to say. I was concentrating too hard on controlling the pain.

Riddick kept talking. I wondered, fleetingly, if he was doing it on purpose to distract me from the pain like Papa used to. 

"I read once about the Chinese of ancient Earth. They had a practice where they bound the feet of young girls…"

"Feet? Why would anyone bind feet?" I gasped at the removal of a particularly attached strip. Papa would often tell me stories of ancient Earth, but he had never mentioned anything like this!

  
"To keep them small. The book had pictures of these tiny little high-heeled shoes; I don't know how even a petite woman could have walked around on feet that size." Riddick scraped at the edge of the bandage with a fingernail, lifting it gently away from my skin. "Eventually, women got a bit more of a voice and the mutilation was stopped, but it was a difficult transition."

"Why's that?" I was truly interested. "It seems to me that everyone would be happy about it."

"Young girls suffered a lot; it was extremely painful to unbind feet after the process had already begun, more painful then the binding itself, apparently. The cure was harder to bear then the disease, so to speak."

"That's horrible! Those poor girls!" I was so repulsed by Riddick's story that I barely noticed enough to turn my back towards him when he removed the final strip of bandage concealing my breasts. My hands rose to them instinctively, gently peeling off the small patches of cotton I used to protect the sensitive nipple. Riddick balled the sports bandage up and threw it into a corner at the rear of the skiff.

"I'm going to need that, y'know." I said dryly as I slowly eased my lightest, cleanest shirt over my head. I felt Riddick's hands helping me before I heard his voice.

"You're not going to wear that thing ever again."

When I turned to him, I was met with a hard expression and more coldness in his steely eyes then I had imagined possible. His hands were still on my waist from helping me with my shirt, his fingers digging harshly into the softness of my flesh. It was clear at that moment that Riddick was in a dangerous mood. I licked my lips and pondered my next words carefully.

"Riddick," I murmured, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. "When we find people it's best that they meet me as a boy."

"No." His fingers loosened, but he didn't release me, instead encircling my shoulders with one arm and drawing me towards him as he leaned back against the bulkhead. "Not with me, Jack." My heart skipped a beat, but I squashed the tiny rise of excitement almost as soon as it was born.

I pushed against him weakly, pretending to be unhappy with the end of our conversation and his physical closeness, but not strong enough to really fight him. "Let me go, Riddick."

"You need a to rest against something a little bit softer then the hull of a skiff, Jack. You're too sore and we've still got half a day left." He was right, of course, and as firm as his chest was, it was warmer and softer then any bulkhead. I let him ease me down to lie at his side, head tucked securely onto his shoulder, right arm sprawled lightly across his abdomen. It felt infuriatingly right to be beside him like this, cradled in his arms. To lighten my own mood I gently wiggled the fingers of my right hand against his ribs. To my perverse glee, he was ticklish!

"Stop that!" He actually squirmed! "Shit! Stop that, Jack!" He caught my hand and held it with his own, looking down into my mirthful eyes. "Now let's get some sleep," he whispered.

My good mood vanished. "We might not wake up."

"Yes we will. Trust me." Riddick closed his eyes, but tightened his grip slightly. He hadn't released my hand either but, to be honest, I didn't mind. Especially since his thumb had started a slow, circular caress of my palm. I took as deep a breath as I could manage and closed my eyes, entering a dreamless sleep in Riddick's embrace.


	5. Arrival

Jack 5 Chapter 5 - Arrival 

I awoke to whiteness and a numb sensation of pain and general discomfort. For one gut wrenching moment as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I was sure I had died. I sat up swiftly and was immediately overcome by a nauseating wave of dizziness; however, as my head became clearer, I was better able to perceive my surroundings. I didn't quite believe what I saw. 

Everything was white. The sheets, the walls, the curtains at the amazingly bright window… shit! Even a small rug on the fuckin' white floor was white! It was enough to make a person sick. I looked down at my hands. They looked small and foreign, resting on my lap. It took me a full 5 seconds to realize that the reason they seemed so alien was because they were _clean_. I had become accustomed to the curves of blackness outlining my cuticles, hiding underneath my ragged nails. My hands were as sterile and white as the room. Good god! It looked as if my nails had even been buffed! 

As I overcame the initial shock of my surroundings, images began flooding my mind, terrifying in their clarity. The crash, Shazza's body being torn apart, the eerie blue glow of phosphorescent worms reflected in Fry's hair, Paris and his all too familiar hands pulling me into relative safety, the scattered remains of cargo and cryotubes littered behind the crash site…. Papa. My breath caught in my throat at the startling rawness of the pain and, for the first time since the crash, I allowed myself the luxury of grief. There was no comfort for me. My Papa was truly dead, and the fact that I still lived seemed the ultimate betrayal of his love. 

After far too short a time, my mind began to mock my tears. "Jack, you big idiot! You don't even know where you are! Get a fuckin' grip and assess the situation, dammit!" Lifting my reddened eyes from my hands I took a good look at the room, expecting to find something, anything, that would let me know what the heck was going on. "Where the hell are you, Jackie girl? What the fuck happened?" My next thought froze my blood in my veins. "Where the fuck is Riddick?" 

As if an unseen force were reading my mind, the single door opened allowing a figure to enter. "Wearing white," I thought sarcastically, "it figures." Remembering Papa's words that the second speaker is the one who bears the power, I kept my mouth shut. 

"Ah! I see you're awake! We were beginning to get worried." According to her wide smile this woman's fetish for white didn't extend to her teeth; kinda disconcerting really. "How are you feeling? 

"Where are my companions?" I didn't like how croaky I sounded, but that's what a period of intense dehydration will do to you. 

"They're resting." She moved closer to the edge of my bed, gently taking one of my wrists and checking my pulse. "We had a difficult time getting young Richard to leave your side, but after his collapse he was in no position to argue." 

A surge of warmth spread through me. Embarrassment, pride, confusion, there was no telling. "Will he be alright?" I asked, feigning meekness. It may be time to play a bit of a game once more. 

"Quite." Her lips pinched together momentarily. "How old are you, child?" 

I ignored her. "I want to see them." I paused a mere fraction of a moment before including a rather demanding, "Now!" 

She raked me up and down with her glance, not unkindly, but critically, and sighed. "I can assure you that they are receiving the best possible treatment…." Whatever other words of consolation she was about to spew were drowned out by a loud bellow from the hallway, followed by a bang on the wall near the door, running feet in soft-soled shoes, and soothing murmurs. "It seems that your friend is awake." She smiled that tight, fake, smile again before moving toward the door. "I hope you keep your visit short; both of you are still in recovery. My name is Alice, if you need me." She opened the door and coolly stepped out a fraction of an instant before Riddick practically fell in. 

As relieved as I was to see Riddick, I still noticed the look Alice gave him as she closed the door. It wasn't one of revulsion or disgust, or even lust or appreciation. It was a look of inordinate satisfaction. My eyes narrowed; I was going to have to keep an eye on this Alice creature. 

I turned my attention over to Riddick, realizing abruptly that his hands were all over my body, giving me a thorough inspection. I didn't bother stopping him; his distraction gave me time to check him out. He was still pale, but definitely stronger. It made me wonder just how long I'd been out of things. 

Riddick's scrutiny ended and, apparently satisfied, he took my hand and made himself comfortable on the edge of my oh-so-very-crisp-and-white bed. My lips curved in a smirk. "Find anything?" My brain included 'you like' to my question, but I couldn't bring the words to my lips. Fuckin' wasted opportunities… 

Riddick released my hand and poked me playfully in the ribs. "Nothing a good whipping wouldn't cure." He paused, eyes scanning my face. "How are you feeling? 

"Pretty damn confused. Where the hell are we? Last thing I remember is the skiff…" I could feel myself starting to blush at the memory of falling asleep in his arms and cursed my traitorous blood vessels. Ducking my head slightly, I covered as much as possible. "Is Imam o.k.? 

"He's up and at it already with the natives." At Riddick's gesture, I scooted over, giving him room to rest against my pillows and stretch out his bandaged leg. If possible, the feel of his body beside me made me blush even more. Fuck, fuck, fuck…. 

"Are you o.k?" I whispered. 

Riddick gave a dry chuckle. "I'm fine." 

"What happened?" 

"Proximity alarm woke me up; you and Imam were down for the count. People here got my emergency signal and communicated some landing coordinates. They even had a med. crew waiting." 

"Nice folks," I grumbled. Papa had taught me that you 'don't ever git sumptin' fer nottin' (he would always say it that way too!). I was just starting to wonder when we would have to pay up. 

"They're o.k." Riddick turned onto his side, elbow bent, head in palm. His free hand reached once more for mine. "You had me worried, Jack." My heart lurched painfully in my chest as he continued. "Med. crew couldn't revive you, couldn't even find a damn vein to rehydrate you…" His voice caught. "They told me you weren't gonna make it." 

I couldn't bring myself to look at his face, so I focused instead on our twined fingers. "That Alice lady said you stayed with me." I swallowed dryly before I looked up. I wished I could see his eyes, but his dark goggles were firmly in place. "Thank you." 

"I couldn't just leave you, Jack." His tone was light, almost mocking. A man can't simply disregard his fiancée when she's not well." 

My eyes must have bugged a mile out of my head because Riddick started laughing so hard he started to roll off the edge of the bed and had to compensate by rolling even closer to me. Half breathless he managed, "What else was I supposed to tell them, Jack?" 

"Well… I… you…." I was getting pissed off at Mr. Chuckles here because I was so flustered. "You could have said I'm your sister!" 

"Hmmmm.. Now why didn't I think of that?" I could see my small white face reflected in his goggles as he leaned closer. "You aren't my sister, Jack." His lips were warm, dry and soft, but I felt as if I'd had a branding iron pressed against my forehead. As he leaned back from the brief kiss, he tilted his head in amusement. "By the way, I like your hair." 

My mouth hung open like a guppy-fish as I reached a tentative hand to my head. Sure enough, my entire scalp was covered with about 3 inches of lightly curling hair. I gulped, my shock at my sudden engagement momentarily forgotten in a prickle of cold fear. "But…. how long have I been out?" 

"You were unconscious for a week." 

"Then…. how?!" 

Riddick smiled. "They started treating your scalp with follicle stimulators the day we arrived. Something about a shorn head being a sign of disgrace." 

"Oh." Who the heck were these people? "So why didn't they make you grow some?" 

"I'm not a girl. Seems that it's only a disgrace for a female to be bald." Riddick rubbed his hand across his head pensively. "Stuff grows in too fast as it is!" 

He hopped off the bed and made his way over to the window. "So," he leaned against the sill and folded his arms, "you hungry?" 

I hadn't realized it until he said it, but my stomach was having a hard time doing Riddick induced flip-flops because it was growling so hard. "Very." 

"Howzabout a little tour with a stop at the kitchens?" Riddick ambled over to a blindingly white dresser and started to rummage in a drawer. 

"Sounds great…. what're ya doin'? 

"Getting you something to wear. That shift you got on isn't decent." 

"Just as long as what you find isn't _white_." 

Riddick chuckled. "Had enough of this room already, haven't you!?" 

"Damn Skippy!" I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and started to slide out. Imagine my surprise when I kept on sliding! 

Riddick caught me before I hit the floor. "Shit, Jack! What the hell are you trying to do?!" He set me back on the edge of the bed and crouched down in front of me. "You aren't strong enough to be stepping out on your own." He reached back and picked up the garment he had dropped and handed it to me. "How's this?" 

"At least it isn't white." I grumbled as I shook out the midnight blue cloth. The material was sheer and light, but strong. It was soft and gently caressing in my hands, inviting even. I lost no time in changing. 

When I had finished, Riddick leaned over and picked me up. With one move he swung me onto his back and swiftly wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. I clung to him, luxuriating in the smooth sway of his hips against my thighs, hands spayed across his chest as I was transported through the doorway into the unknown. A small part of me warned that I had the Devil, himself, as my guide. 


End file.
